A Tyrant In Dc

The sound of a familiar notification echoed in Allen's head.

Ding! Level 3 achieved.

His eyes widened slightly as his mind processed the information, but he quickly suppressed any outward reaction. No way was he going to draw attention to himself. He was sitting in the middle of a classroom, surrounded by seven-year-olds who were casually solving college-level math problems. Seven-year-olds. College math. Let that sink in for a second.

"What the actual hell is going on here?" Allen thought as he watched a kid to his right confidently solve a calculus equation that even his past 24-year-old self would've hesitated to tackle.

As he mulled over his current predicament, an intense sensation rippled through his body. It started at the base of his spine, rushing upward like a wildfire, igniting every muscle fiber and nerve ending. His veins felt like they were being filled with liquid fire—not painful, but so overwhelmingly powerful that he almost gasped out loud. Every fiber of his being vibrated with newfound strength. His vision sharpened, his hearing became more acute, and he felt like he could punch through a brick wall if he wanted to.

"System," Allen hissed internally, keeping his face as neutral as possible, "what the hell was that?"

The system responded in its usual monotone, "That is the effect of leveling up. With every level, you gain a permanent increase in strength, stamina, and other physical attributes. Currently, you possess the raw strength equivalent to that of a professional boxer. Skills not included."

Allen's eyes twitched.

"A pro boxer? At level three?" he thought, barely holding back a grin. "If this is level three, then what the hell am I going to look like at level 10? Superman's angry cousin?" He couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement at the possibilities, but he quickly tempered it with realism. He was still stuck in a classroom, pretending to be a seven-year-old who didn't just experience a literal power surge.

As he tried to rein in his thoughts, Miss Harper, the teacher, clapped her hands to grab the class's attention. Her sharp voice rang out, "Alright, class, let's try something a little more challenging. Solve this equation:" She turned to the board and wrote out a monstrosity that could've easily been on a final exam for a math major.

Allen blinked at the equation. His brain flatlined.

"...What?" he thought, staring blankly at the board. "How are these kids even—"

Before he could spiral into panic, the system's calm voice rang in his head. "The answer is 42."

Allen hesitated. Could he trust the system? It hadn't steered him wrong yet, but if he said something stupid in front of these child prodigies, his carefully crafted "quiet genius" persona would be ruined.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand. Miss Harper nodded at him expectantly. "Yes, Allen?"

"Uh, the answer is 42?" he said, trying not to sound too uncertain.

The teacher's eyes lit up, and a smile spread across her face. "That's correct! Excellent work, Allen. I'm impressed—no one else got it."

The other kids turned to look at him, their eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of jealousy. Allen sank lower into his chair, inwardly cursing the system for putting him in the spotlight.

"System," he thought bitterly, "you're lucky that was right. If it wasn't, I'd—"

"You'd what?" the system interrupted, its voice laced with sarcasm. "Throw a tantrum? Cry about it? I'm here to help you survive, not babysit your emotions."

Allen couldn't help but smirk. He appreciated the sass, even if it came from the voice in his head.

When the bell rang for lunch, Allen practically bolted out of the classroom. The cafeteria was a massive hall that looked more like the dining room of a five-star hotel. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the aroma of gourmet food wafted through the air. Kids of all ages sat at neatly arranged tables, eating meals that looked like they belonged on the cover of a fancy food magazine.

Allen grabbed his tray, which held steak, mashed potatoes, and vegetables that were definitely not from a can. As he scanned the room for an empty seat, he couldn't help but marvel at the sheer absurdity of it all.

"So this is what rich kids get," he thought. "Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to figure out how to level up so I don't get mugged by a crackhead on the way home."

As he sat down, two boys approached him. One was tall and lanky, with messy brown hair and glasses that looked too big for his face. The other was shorter but stockier, with dark skin and a confident grin.

"Hey," the taller boy said, sliding into the seat across from Allen. "You're the new kid, right? The one with the weird hair and…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Allen's face.

Allen raised an eyebrow. "Weird hair? Thanks, I guess."

The shorter boy snickered. "Don't mind him. I'm Marcus, and that's my older brother, Caleb. He's ten, I'm twelve. And you're… Allen, right?"

"Yeah," Allen said, keeping his answers short. The last thing he wanted was to bond with kids. He might look seven, but he was still a grown man on the inside. Talking to children felt… weird.

"You've got a cool look," Caleb said, leaning forward. "Like an anime character or something."

Allen's lips twitched. "Thanks. I guess."

The conversation didn't last long, mainly because Allen gave short, noncommittal answers until the bell rang. As he walked back to class, he couldn't help but think, "Why am I doing this? Oh, right, because my system decided I need to go to school for a measly 20 EXP."

The system's voice echoed in his head. "A tyrant rules over their environment and makes the most of every situation."

Allen sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say."

With that, he headed back to class, already counting down the days until he could finally start making real progress. Little did he know, life at this academy was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Three years later…